


Crystal Waters

by Moonlit_Ice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry has speech habits, Merman Harry, Sassy Harry, Ship-tease
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Ice/pseuds/Moonlit_Ice
Summary: When the Dursleys try to escape Harry’s Hogwarts letters to the lighthouse on the island, Vernon loses control of his temper and attempts to drown Harry.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Crystal Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm not usually one to post stories, preferring to read. I hope you enjoy this one as I work my way through!

It was an unusually cloud filled evening that a sleek, dark BMW filled with passengers was driving down a long stretch of road with only headlights to illuminate the way. Despite the size of the car, Vernon managed to hunch over the steering wheel, beady eyes scrunched in concentration, flitting around as if expecting an airplane to dive bomb on them at any moment. Petunia was sneering into some trashy home décor magazine and Dudley was complaining about the journey, being hungry, being bored, being hungry again and when his Gameboy batteries had died, complaining about that as well. One would easily miss little Harry, tiny and meek, who was flush against the door of the car as far as he could possibly get away from his relatives. His mind thinking back to the horde of letters that bombarded Number Four Privet Drive.

“Mummy! My Gameboy’s run out of battery! I’m bored mummy, why can’t we get something to eat?!” Dudley may not have many of Petunia’s qualities, but he’d certainly learnt how to sound shrill when he whined. Petunia made tutting and cooing noises.

“Don’t you worry, sweetie. Mummy will buy you some batteries when we get to a petrol station, okay? I’ll also buy you some cake for being such a patient boy, doesn’t that sound nice!” Harry surreptitiously glanced at his mammoth cousin next to him, noting how compared to Dudley, he was practically emaciated, never mind that it was his birthday tomorrow. He was feeling a mite bit sarcastic, and better sense would have told him to stay quiet. Except he’d been forced to endure punches, manhandling and starvation through the day and felt a burning of righteous spite fizz to the surface.

“And if you ask mummy and daddy even more, they might be able to even make the car go faster than the national speed limit! Even faster than you can _eat_ a cake, isn’t that amazing!” Harry’s voice was gentle, but the sarcasm was as fresh as the rain that was hammering down on the roof of the car.

Vernon swerved dramatically, tires screeching as if on a racetrack. In a quick movement that even surprised himself he’d reached back and yanked Harry forward by the neck of his shirt and shook him violently.

“Boy! No funny business! No smart-aleck comments! And definitely. No. _Freakishness_!” His face was pink with frustration, not nearly as angry as he was that morning but in such close quarters, Harry didn’t want to risk poking the raising the man’s ire any further. Dudley started laughing at the abuse unaware of the sarcasm, Petunia sniffed in disdain and resumed reading her magazine and Vernon, at Harry’s quiet “Yes, Uncle Vernon.” Let go of his shirt and started to drive again. The only noises being Dudley’s snorting and the lulling rhythm of the windscreen wipers. Harry watched the scenery as best he could despite the lack of light, the cool glass against his face, his breath making clouds in the window where rain tracks would pierce through. He felt himself falling into a snooze and didn’t realise how long they’d been journeying until they came to a stop where a sudden, sharp blast of rainy wind woke him from his nap.

“Out, boy.” Harry complied, the quick temperature change organising his senses. He noticed that everyone except him had waterproofs, Dudley had his Gameboy and a cake box huddled underneath his anorak and Petunia had two bulging, plastic bags filled with food, magazines and an assortment of utensils. The briny smell of the sea and the sound of the waves were a drum in Harry’s head, the waters black, unfathomable and frightening. What would normally be golden sand looked brown and murky, the clouds overhead making the area feel like a wasteland.

Harry learnt that showing apathy kept him from getting beaten or punished, so he supressed the urge to shiver and let his teeth chatter. Vernon was talking to a very suspicious man who’d clearly lost too many teeth. The two men murmured a conversation as the other three awkwardly stood in the rain waiting for Vernon to finish. The rain had softened to a light drizzle by the time Vernon had finished, though Harry was already beginning to feel rather soggy.

“Good news! This strapping chap’s going to loan us his boat for the next couple of days. We’re rowing to that island over there where we’ll stay overnight. No more damned letters, aren’t I clever, boy.” Vernon chuckled to himself as money and keys exchanged hands. Petunia tried her best to give a polite smile but ended up simpering into a grimace. Dudley wanted to watch television.

“Into the boat dearest, and don’t let the freak row, who knows what mischief he’ll try to do if we let him.” Vernon glared at Harry as he tried to be as gentlemanly as possible, helping his wife into the boat yet somehow looking like obese racoon, with his boring grey sweater, black shoes and dark grey trousers, which seemed to exacerbate the roundness that Vernon was. Harry’s mouth twitched but he remained silent, knowing that any reaction would likely have undesirable consequences. He followed his aunt into the boat with Vernon getting in last.

The boat wasn’t a terribly secure one, made of old and simple wood with two benches to perch on and some nooks for the oars on either side. The clouds got heavier though the drizzle stayed the same as Vernon started to sweat from rowing. Dudley was clinging to Petunia as the waves started to get choppier and rock the boat.

“I want more food when we get to the island mummy!” Dudley never stopped complaining. Harry peered into the ocean, nothing stared back.

“I wonder if we can catch something to eat, fish is meant to be good for brains.” Harry quipped, _‘that’s if you had any brains to begin with’_ he left unsaid. Vernon threw a warning glare at the inky haired child despite his huffing and puffing from the strenuous task of rowing.

It could have been the heavy clouds overheard, or maybe the unseen terror of the sea, but there was a rising tension that Harry felt keenly and there was nothing he could do in the small confines of the boat. Whenever his gaze met Vernon’s, there was a hardened look in his eyes, a loathing and hatred so potent that it threw little Harry off into an even quieter silence and stillness. The small boy looked away, trying to find comfort in his dark surroundings, he felt paralysed. This was nothing like the cupboard under the stairs, with no blanket for security or spiders for company. He dared not move an inch while the boat bobbed over the rough and turning waves towards the solitary island. What should have been an half hour ride took closer to an hour and even Harry shared in the relief that the Dursleys were exclaiming over as they wobbled out of their vessel onto shore. All this, over a letter that he should rightfully have been allowed to read. His head panged, and his frustration from the day was bubbling to the surface. He could feel pins and needles in his fingertips and his socks were squelching unhappily into his worn-out, too large trainers.

“Oh darling, you are so strong and wonderful!” Petunia gushed, pecking Vernon’s face with kisses and hugging him tightly. Vernon was pink, sweaty and very much resembled a beached whale as he heaved and gasped.

“…Wonderful? You think _this_ is _wonderful_?!” Harry’s quiet voice was clipped, he was staring out at the wide expanse of the ocean, huge waves caressing his shoes. He clenched his fists, refusing to look at the crumbling little hut on the rotten little island, more like a rock than anything.

“Not another word Freak or els-“

“Or else _what_?! The cupboard under the stairs, again?! You all want to be _normal_ yet you forced us to run away. _From letters_! Letters that were meant for _me_. How is this wild goose chase helping you be normal?! How is rowing and renting a boat to this forsaken hut on a rock normal?!” He whirled round to face them. Harry could feel his pulse racing. This situation was absurd, and they call _him_ the freak!

**_SMACK_ **

His face snapped to the side, glasses askew, he felt the familiar throb of pain that he knew would become a bruise bloom on the side of his face.

“ _You_ should have been murdered along with your freakish, bloody parents!” Vernon roared, throwing his weight on top of the child. They crashed messily into the waves. There was screaming from Petunia and Dudley as man and boy started to drift away from the shore

‘ _Murdered?!’_ was the only coherent thought before Harry was fighting to stay above water. Vernon was kneeing and stamping on his body, he could feel a fat grip on his neck, he couldn’t breathe. The dark-haired boy could feel his body being dragged away from the shore, but the hands were still round his neck. He could hear shouting, and the waves, and he clawed and struggled against his uncle who was continuing to drag him under. He gurgled, spluttered, wheezed. The tension he felt in the air earlier snapped.

A lance of lightning exploded into his watery vision. Harry heard a yell of pain and felt the constriction release. But it wasn’t enough, the waves had grabbed him and taken him under. He couldn’t swim, having never been given lessons. The small child flailed desperately but the surface was getting farther and farther away. Beneath the waves, the sound of water was lulling, and he swore he could hear something sweet in his mind…

‘ _What an unfair way to die._ ’ Was the very last thought he had as he sank into the deep.

**. . .**

Meanwhile, in a castle far, far away from the south-east of England, in Scotland, a few dozen complex magical gadgets screeched, exploded or simply stopped working. The door to the Headmaster’s office slammed open, an old wizard, breathing heavily from running, could only whisper a defeated “No…” as his eyes surveyed the destruction. Dumbledore whirled back round, sending a patronus to his deputy, Minerva. He took a fistful of powder and hurled it into the fireplace, calling out the ministry of magic and rushing off in a flash of verdant flame.

**. . .**

**OUR SAVIOUR IS DEAD**

**Dear Citizens of the Wizarding world,**

**Our beloved child saviour has died tragically, one day before his eleventh birthday. Harry Potter was to receive his Hogwarts Letter, and was enjoying a small weekend holiday with his Muggle family down at a beach for his birthday.**

**No-one could have predicted the fierce tides would drown the child, who was swimming together with his cousin. Muggle “Life-guards”, those that are qualified to go into dangerous water conditions to save those who may be drowning, were only able to safely retrieve Harry Potter’s cousin.**

**Our thoughts are with the family through this difficult time.**

**To see the story of how Harry Potter triumphed over one of the Darkest wizards of our time, and the memory of Lord James and Lily Potter, turn to page 5.**

**The prophet asks that citizens of the Wizarding world to join in a wand-lit vigil on Hallowe’en, the day The Dark Lord was vanquished, in loving memory of the Noble Potter family.**

**. . .**

Across the country, wizarding homes were left in shock.

“Father! Look at the Prophet, it can’t really be true, can it?” A boy with sharp grey eyes and a determined frown held up the paper towards his father of the same white blond hair, hawkish eyes scanning the pages in seconds. Draco admired how quickly his father and Godfather could glance at something and have all the information they needed; his mother was similar there too. Maybe that’s why they were good friends.

Narcissa Malfoy gently placed a fair hand on her child’s shoulder, affectionately near the neck.

“I shall speak to your Godfather, Draco, while your father makes queries at the Ministry.” She flicked her gaze at Lucius and he lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

“Let us have breakfast first before we get on.” Lucius turned and made his way down the ornate halls. “Draco, do not waste this opportunity to show our dear Severus the results and questions of your recent potions work.” Draco replied with a light “Yes, father.” Happy to be involved.

In another household, one busy mother was desperately holding back tears, as the sounds of frying and a groggily waking family were rousing from their sleep.

“What wrong, Molly-wobbles?” A man with mussed red hair and a smile lines on his tired face shuffled into the kitchen and scraped a chair to sit down into.

“Have a look at this, dear. Awful, awful news! And so young!” She placed the paper down in front of her husband and quietly cried, sniffling while flipping eggs, sausages and bacon in her large frying pan.

“… Heavens no! I shall make an inquiry at the Ministry after breakfast and ask Headmaster Dumbledore too. There surely has to be a mistake.” Arthur had fully woken at this point, staring gobsmacked at the article.

The day would continue in the same vein, a heaviness and sorrow that permeated the lives of the wizarding world, the ministry and Dumbledore receiving letters and howlers. It would take time to heal, but the school year was fast approaching. And time stopped for no one.

**Author's Note:**

> Any thoughts?


End file.
